


Spilled Ink

by OneAristoCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29011848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneAristoCat/pseuds/OneAristoCat
Summary: Tattoomed promises quick, painless and artsy designs infused with a little something for personal enjoyment.On a Sunday visit to Hogsmeade, Hermione gets more than she bargained for.Eighth Year | Acquaintances to Lovers
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	Spilled Ink

Hermione Granger knew a dreadful idea when presented with one.

  
One too many occasions of having to weed out the terrible, remodel the questionable, and enhance the ingenious out of Harry and Ron's schemes for trouble over the last seven years of her life had taught her that much. Unlike Harry, who wouldn't know peril if it took his broom and punched him in the face with it, or Ron, who, although more cautious, had the aptitude to remain out of harm's way of a doe inside a lions' den, Hermione was guarded. 

  
“Oh, come _on_... Hermione. What's the worst that can happen? _Honestly_.”

  
The latest call aiming to lure her into dangerous territory – and after having successfully breezed through the summer scot-free and into her Eighth Year at Hogwarts – came wrapped in the body of the beaming red-headed witch she had grown impossibly close to during her stay at the Burrow for the last four months. Hermione purposefully chose to ignore the way she had mimicked her. For their friendship's sake.

  
“I don't happen to have a quill or parchment on me at the moment, but if _you_ do, please, start writing it down because I can count you about twenty different ways your idea can end horrendously,” she offered cheekily while taking a sip of her pumpkin juice. 

  
Ginny pursed her lips and held up a finger. “Okay. _One_. My ideas tend to end marvellously. Whimsically, at the very least. So, the record's on my side. _Two_. You promised me an entertaining girls' end-of-the-afternoon out, and so far the entertainment segment has been widely neglected. And, let me finish! _Three_. You need a good snogging session.”

  
Hermione felt the pulpy liquid shooting fast down her throat as she chocked at her friend's brazenness. “ _Wha- Ginny_!”

  
The younger witch shrugged her shoulders. “It would help you unwind. If you spend one more evening at the library, you're gonna end up sprouting scrolls from under your robes.”

  
Hermione snorted. “I thought the point of coming to Hogsmeade was exactly _that_. To unwind.”

  
“No, the point was to get drunk. And to buy Harry's Christmas present. But you've settled for wishy-washy pumpkin juice and I'm no closer to finding the stupid first edition Wizard's Chess set, so it's safe to say I'm not satisfied. And neither are _you_ , as far as I'm aware.”

  
There were times when she missed the days Ginny Weasley's cheeks tainted pink at the minimum sign of attention from the opposite sex or otherwise. Being the older of the two came with its advantages, but having the most experience in such matters was most definitely not one of them. Ginny and Harry's relationship had blossomed as the days had grown hotter, and her own had slowly but steadily withered away after the final battle. 

  
Ron had been awkward around her for the few weeks between the night they had decided to part ways metaphorically and the day it happened quite literally – him and Harry off to Auror training, and her and Ginny back to Hogwarts. She had half a mind to leave the Burrow, not wanting to cause him any discomfort by staying around. Fortunately enough for her – because she really had nowhere else to go – he'd found her by the lake one late afternoon, yelled at her for even humouring such thoughts and held her in a friendly embrace. Harry had joined in after a few minutes and they laughed. 

  
Their tentative touches over the few layers of clothing were sprinkled throughout the summer and nothing but that. Tentative. Unsure. The uneasy feeling of her stomach clenching whenever they _tried_ was deeply etched in her mind. A brush of their lips once, a firmer grasp of clothes and hair sometimes – it was all fine. Because she loved Ron and had since their first year. She also loved Harry, and Ginny, and Luna, and Fred, and George... And it was with that realization that they'd untangled from each other one afternoon and put a comfortable distance between their bodies. It was starting to lead somewhere, and she was suddenly very aware that it was Ron, one of her childhood best friends and near-death experiences companion, that was touching her.

  
After that, he'd held her hand a couple of times but she barely even blinked.

  
“What I’m understanding to be the equivalent of a lust-inducing permanent patch wouldn’t even bring me any sort of uh- _satisfaction_ or _unwinding_. I reckon it would have the opposite effect, really. Because then I'd be perpetually needy and with no one to- _help_ … me.” Hermione huffed at Ginny's playful giggle. 

  
“It’s not permanent. It only lasts a couple of weeks or so, I think. And that would be _exactly_ what you need to get moving and find yourself a wizard who's willing to, you know, _lend a helping hand_.” Ginny snickered in amusement at Hermione's appalled expression.

  
“You’re terrible!” Hermione laughed along with her, her neck flushing under the red and golden scarf nonetheless. “Why do you need the tattoo, anyway? Do you _want_ to suffer until you see Harry?”

  
Ginny shook her head, her lips pursed from taking a large gulp of butterbeer. “It’s not like that. You're only supposed to fully feel the effects upon contact. Skin on skin. I guess I'd experience _some_ sort of heightened lustfulness from having the ink seeping into my system, but it's only one more week of classes and we're back home. And since it's the last Hogsmeade trip, I have to do it today.”

  
“Or, you know, not do it at all?”

  
Ginny groaned while Hermione continued to shake with mirth. “Come on, it'd be fun! You owe me for planning to abandon me with those tosspots!”

  
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I'd really like to spend Christmas with all of you, Ginny. You know I would. But- not with, you know, Ron bringing Padma over.”

  
Ginny sighed. “I really hoped you would have sorted all of that out by now…”

  
“ _Oh_ , no. It's sorted alright, you know that. From my end, at least. And from Ron’s as well, I’m positive. I just don’t want to be the cause of a spat between the two of them, that’s all. I'm sure Padma wouldn’t feel all too comfortable with me there…”

  
Ginny let her face rest on her palm. “If my plonker of a brother knew that was the reason you chose to stay at Hogwarts, he'd come and drag you by the broom himself.”

  
“Exactly why you won’t stray from the excuse of me wanting to catch up on my studies, which is as in-character as it could get and honestly not that far from the truth.”

  
The red-haired witch smiled and shook her head in light-hearted disapproval. “Who takes _seven_ NEWT-level classes, Hermione? And you have the gall to ask _me_ if I enjoy suffering!”

  
“You obviously do!”

  
“It’s painless! It says so on the sign!” 

  
Hermione snorted her juice in an unladylike manner. “ _That_ is not what I meant!”

  
“Regardless. Now, you better start sizing up your options of Hogwarts eye-candy, because I'm dragging you with me to Tattoomed right after this.”

  
A shiver slithered up her spine as the door to the inn opened, a couple of Ravenclaw girls she recognized from the Sixth Year chatting their way inside. It was enough to pivot her attention to the captivating view of the snowy canvas that could be seen through the window on the other side of the dim room. It didn’t get much better than Hogsmeade around Christmas. The floating candles reminded her of Hogwarts; the earthy scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon of home.

  
_Home_ … Hermione couldn’t say she knew where that was anymore.

  
Just as she drowned out those thoughts and conjured up another clever retort to Ginny's proposition, a familiar tuff of nearly silvery-white hair against a pale, milky complexion obstructed her view of the busy street. Moments later, and Draco Malfoy along with Blaise Zabini were stepping inside the packed pub. The way the two Slytherins' eyes searched the crowded room told her they were probably looking for the two girls in navy blue scarfs, her suspicions confirmed when Zabini beamed and headed their way to a table in the corner. 

  
Malfoy took a few seconds longer to brush the specs of snow from his black robes. Using his ring hand to ruffle the long tresses atop his head, he didn’t bother to run his long fingers through them again in an attempt to look less dishevelled. Hermione found that it suited him. 

  
“Oh, no,” Ginny said quietly. “Now _that_ is a bloody bad idea, Hermione.”

  
She blinked owlishly at the red-haired girl, her throat tightening on its own accord. “What uh- what do you mean?”

  
Ginny looked concerned. “Don’t play daft with me. Half the female student body has noticed that no longer being a Death Eater obviously agrees with him and the other half only hasn’t because their hormones haven’t woken yet. You're not exactly an exception or stealth, you know?”

  
Hermione scoffed. “I- was just noticing how he's wearing his house colours again,” she explained, and she hated how utterly unsure of her own reasoning she sounded. “It’s just… comforting, in a weird way. It looks like we're back in Forth Year. Like nothing happened.”

  
“Yeah, nothing except him getting taller and filling out and shutting his trap once and for all. Which was honestly the sole reason for him _not_ to have the female portion of the other houses apart from Slytherin at his feet. And I'm sure he would _love_ to boast about it to a Gryffindor wizard or two…”

  
“It almost seems like you're about to arrive at the point.”

  
Ginny sighed, leaning on both her elbows and looking up at her. “I can’t play big sister with you due to obvious reasons but I can ask you to be careful.”

  
Hermione offered her a sincere smile. “‘Careful’ may very well be my middle name, Ginevra _Bonkers_ Weasley. This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. He's a Pure-blood and I punched him in the face not five years ago. I don't think he's ever gonna offer to braid my hair for me.”

  
She could tell Ginny bit back an inappropriate comment by her smirk and the way she started nibbling on her bottom lip. She seemed deep in thought for a couple of seconds before turning her attention to the object of their discussion. 

  
“He does seem different, doesn’t he?”

  
Hermione hesitated to tilt her neck in order to glance at him but eventually gave up. Malfoy was sitting next to one of the Ravenclaw girls yet hardly paying her attention if the way he was fumbling with his ring and the half-hearted polite smiles he sent her in response to her chatter were anything to go by. 

  
She had been at his trial, vouching for him and his mother when the time to deal with the remaining members of the Dark Lord's side came. Harry had joined her; Ron didn’t bother. Malfoy had looked sickly, his tempestuous silver eyes dulled by the few days he had been forced to spend in Azkaban. Hermione remembered shivering when they had first brought him in. He looked disconnected, his skin clammy. If he recognized them, his empty eyes showed no sign of it. He had either Occlumented so strenuously that there was nothing left for them to see, or was planning on putting an end to everything as soon as the shackles came off. Hermione thought that was the last time she would ever see Draco Malfoy. 

  
“Yes. Yes, he does.”

  
“ _See_!” Ginny nearly jumped up from her seat, her outburst seizing the attention of the tables around them, including their four Hogwarts schoolmates. “All it takes is a little leverage, a teeny tiny encouragement, and you're immediately all agreeable! _Careful_ , my arse!”

  
Hermione grabbed her wrist and yanked it down to reclaim some semblance of privacy to their conversation. “I’m not _agreeing_ to anything! This conversation is moot, either way. _You're_ the one trying to make me jump the next wizard that so much as talks to me, and-”

  
“Granger?”

  
The low baritone of his voice was very close to her. Strange. She remembered at least two rows of tables between them. 

  
Hermione turned on her seat to see him standing behind her, clutching her scarf and holding it up to her. She realized it must have slipped during her attempt to muffle Ginny's miniature tirade. She also realized how ironic it was that Ginny, while trying to protect her from what she believed to be a _bloody bad idea_ , had inadvertently thrown her closer to the snake pit. She had to remember to tease her about it later. 

  
“Are you planning on taking it or…?” 

  
_A little leverage?_

  
Her eyes betrayed her by traveling up the expanse of his torso and settling on his dark grey ones. She was expecting to find amusement there, and sure enough he didn’t disappoint. But it didn’t feel right. It felt numb. Tame. Two words she would never have associated with Draco Malfoy before the start of the war. 

  
“Salazar, you're an airhead,” he muttered with annoyance while wrapping the scarf back around her neck himself. “I knew Weaslebee would rub off on you, eventually.” He then turned to Ginny. “Meaning no offence. It's just the one Weasley that bothers me now.”

  
Ginny dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “None taken. Don’t mind her, she's just getting the heebie-jeebies now.” When she didn’t immediately elaborate and deliberately let him assume she meant because of him, Hermione's eyes widened to the size of saucers and Malfoy's turned to her with curiosity. “We have an appointment, that is. To get tattoos.”

  
His brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t peg you for the type, Granger.”

  
“Because she's most definitely _not_ the type. I'm luring the delinquent out of her.” Ginny grinned and went back to sipping on her butterbeer.

  
Malfoy smirked, his chin lowered. “I reckon you'd have a better chance of setting fire to the snow outside. But, by all means. Do go ahead. While I go ahead and…” he purposefully trailed off while pointing his thumb to the group’s table and leaving. 

  
Hermione knew she shouldn’t have let the silence that followed drag out for so long.

  
“How did you ever seduce Viktor Krum? _Honestly_. You do realize that you will require words to get under his robes, don’t you?”

  
“ _Godric_ , Ginny! I don’t-! I- I didn’t even-! You know what? Let's just go.”

  
The younger witch threw her head back and laughed. “Alright, I'm sorry. Look, you don’t need to do the desire-infused one! There's plenty of options. For a boost of energy, to increase attention, to decrease appetite. It's completely harmless and I did mean what I said. You need to unwind! Why don’t you get something anaesthetic, yeah? Just think, a little brush of your fingers against it and you get a dosage of peace and quiet. Like your own personal relaxation button.”

  
“Drugs. This is just like doing drugs. My mum warned me…”

  
“I’m not even gonna pretend to know what that is,” Ginny scoffed. “ _Please_?”

  
Hermione bit her lip in thought. “I don’t know, Ginny… I've never read anything about it-”

  
Ginny didn’t have to interrupt her. Her mouth stopped producing words on its own. The ginger's look of challenge spread all around her delicate features dared her to finish.

  
She always _did_ need to read about it, didn’t she? 

  
It would be too obvious to lift her eyes and steal a glance at the Slytherin who had cocooned her head with her Gryffindor pride scarf, but to herself she could admit that she was thinking about him when she made the decision.

  
Hermione Granger knew a dreadful idea when presented with one.

  
But she also wanted to set fire to the snow.

* * *

  
  
His name would always be on everyone’s lips.

  
Draco had come to accept it for what it was. Be it from daft witches who craved his attention or vengeful gits who believed he hadn’t paid for his war crimes, the name Malfoy resounded through the halls of Hogwarts like an ever-present ghost. Lucius would be proud, he was sure.

  
He supposed today's whispering had much to do with the fact that he'd decided to forgo his robes and roll up the sleeves of his jumper and shirt as soon as he sat down in Potions, waiting for Slughorn to arrive. 

  
All four houses had classes together, seeing as there was a rather diminutive number of students that had actually returned to finish their education. All four stared, their eyes averting from their inspection of his left forearm whenever he turned their way. Try as they might, they wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the faded mark of the skull and serpent. Draco made sure of that. Every morning, as religiously as taking a shower or putting his clothes on, he strengthened the charm that concealed it, and struggled not to transfigure his own face into a less pronounced scowl.

  
He couldn’t care less what they thought, much to their chagrin. He hadn’t even wanted to step foot in Hogwarts again, but his mother had begged him. To attempt to give him some sense of normality back. To have him distracted and hopefully off the Dreamless Sleep Potion as a result. To help her feel like she hadn’t failed him. Draco would be damned if he let her think that ever again, so he played into the fantasy.

  
Even with the charm, however, there were bound to be some looks and heated quarrels, and he wouldn’t put his mother through that. Reluctantly, he pulled the sleeves down.

  
“I. Am. Spent.” Zabini plopped down beside him and leaned his head on his shoulder for emphasis. 

  
Draco chuckled before nudging him away with his elbow. “Good morning to you too. What in the ever loving hell happened to 'carry me to bed if I show up wasted at the dorm in the middle of the night because I can’t afford to get sick and have to take Pepperup again since it tastes like shit'?” 

  
Slughorn had waltzed inside the classroom, murmuring a few apologies for his tardiness, especially since it seemed everyone had arrived already. Draco looked around. Well, almost everyone.

  
Zabini faked a pity once-over. “I told you not to wait up, Drakey.” He laughed after receiving a punch to the stomach. “Fine, _fine_. Sorry. But _man_ , you have no clue what you missed out on. Who would have thought Ravenclaws had it in them? And, _and_ … I'll let you make of that last bit what you will.”

  
Draco rubbed his temples but couldn’t help but snicker, nonetheless. “Must you? It's 9:00AM on a Monday.”

  
“Like there's a time to recount the tales of The Snake that Could.”

  
It was a rare enough occurrence nowadays, getting him to laugh. Apart from the polite quarter-smiles and courteous greetings he sent the professors and the younger students who were too intimidated by him to scorn, Draco didn’t really enjoy himself. He didn’t have much to lean on, anyway. Zabini was the only one to treat him like a friend. 

  
_Well, Zabini and…_

  
The timid click of the door echoed in the room and the shy Gryffindor, who had tried to go unnoticed, stammered under the scrutiny of the dozens of eyes that suddenly fell on her.

  
Draco furrowed his brow. She wasn’t usually late.

  
“I- Sorry, professor,” she murmured sheepishly. 

  
“Not to worry, Miss Granger. I just got here myself, actually. But let us not stall. Take a seat, please.”

  
While everyone had already turned their attention to the front where Slughorn laid the materials they'd be using on his desk, Draco kept his eyes on her. It wasn’t unusual for her to catch him staring and lower her own russet orbs in defence. The witch had a unique sense of preservation – probably acquired through the many years of having to embark on Potter's reckless ventures – which made her ceaselessly alert. What was most definitely unusual, to say the least, was for _him_ to be the one to catch _her_. His eyes were always first. Hermione Granger wouldn’t be secretly admiring him otherwise.

  
_Except today, that is_.

  
She had been the one to immediately pinpoint which table he had occupied as soon as the door closed behind her back. She had also taken a shaky intake of breath before darting to the other side of the dungeon like she'd been running from the plague. Draco didn’t take her for a klutz, but he vaguely wondered if she'd end up tumbling down the room with how adamantly she kept her line of sight on the opposite direction of where he was sitting. Sure enough, she barged into a stand corner, her lips tightening in a thin line to suppress the hiss of pain as her hand clutched her hip.

  
“One too many, I'm telling you,” Zabini gossiped behind his hand, eyes narrowing when Draco ignored him in favour of resuming his inspection of the Golden Girl. “Wakey-wakey, Drakey. What's got you away with the fairies?”

  
“Did you know you get progressively annoying whenever you shag someone? And, for the record, your mother can tell.” 

  
Zabini shrugged. “I’m aware. She describes my post-coital good mood as 'chirpy',” he said. “But, seriously. Yesterday with the scarf, today with the staring…”

  
Slughorn rattled off something about revising the most elaborate potions in the syllabus, which they would be required to brew to perfection on their NEWT. Draco kept his eyes on him, hard as steel, but barely paid attention. 

  
“You’re imagining things,” he finally said.

  
“Am I? I've been trying to get you out of that self-imposed chastity belt since the start of the term to no avail. Would explain a whole lot, mate. Maybe I should remind you that it's not the first time she's been the topic of conversation down at the Common Room. A conversation I recall _you_ participating in, very willingly and _enthusiastically_ , might I add.”

  
Draco looked daggers at him. “Maybe you _shouldn’t_. That was then. I wouldn’t get a kick out of spiting Potter and the Weasle anymore.”

  
_Well… maybe a little…_

  
“Be that as it may, it still proves that, at the very least, you're attracted to her,” Zabini tapped his fingers rhythmically on the wood. “You’d have your father foaming at the mouth, that's a given. Being with a Muggle-born…”

  
Draco struggled not to sneer, knowing Zabini meant no harm. “Fortunately, I no longer give a _fuck_ about what Lucius thinks. So, I'll spare you the mental gymnastics: it's not to spite him either.”

  
It wasn’t anything like Blaise Zabini to simply drop something so quickly without some sort of dramatic ending line. Draco peered at his dorm mate from the corner of his eye, only to find him smiling like it was Christmas morning. 

  
_Fuck_.

  
“I'll pretend you didn’t just admit it because I'm in a _chirpy_ mood and I have a feeling it’ll be _so_ much more entertaining if you're in denial.”

  
Draco pressed his lips with a grimace and resumed his previous task of pretending to listen to Slughorn while attempting to determine just where Granger's marbles had rolled off to this time.

  
“-that the Valerian roots should be cut in square pieces and that the beaker must be still after adding the sea salt, and you should be good. Now, let's pair you all up, shall we? Mix it up a bit! You can't expect to work solely with your own house for the rest of your lives! Let's start with Miss Abbott and uhm, Mr. Finnigan. Yes, that's good. Now, Mr. Goldstein and-”

  
She was fidgeting in her seat. Draco could tell her fingers were playing with her jumper, where the fabric covered her forearm. It had become a habit of sorts. For her. And a torment of sorts. For him. Bile sped up his throat like venom whenever he saw her wrapping her dainty fingers around the muscle and he would have to lower his gaze so he wouldn’t be physically ill.

  
That was usually where a day's progress would be reset, and he would start loathing himself all over again.

  
“Mr. Malfoy and uhm, let's see… Miss Granger.”

  
The professor's words didn’t really register until a few seconds later. It was the way Granger's spine straightened with a jolt that brought him out of his reverie. As she slumped on her seat, he realized how _thrilled_ she was to have to work with him for the next two hours.

  
“I’d say something right now,” Zabini was near giggles when Draco faced him. “But I won’t because I'm mature.”

  
The blond rolled his eyes at the other Slytherin's giddiness. He could act like a proper Witch Weekly subscriber when he put his heart to it. 

  
Not paying Zabini another minute of attention, Draco gathered his bag and headed over to the front. He might have pretended not to know where his partner was sitting for a moment and he might have heard a snicker from Zabini. Damned git.

  
Granger had her hands full when he reached her side, clearly intending to meet him at his table as well. “Oh, uhm. I- was uh- yeah, no, no matter. Nevermind.”

  
Draco raised a brow but thought better than to point out her stuttering. “I’ll take our chances over Zabini's not to blow anything up. It’s better if he stays in the back.” He saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “You alright, Granger?”

  
She absent-mindedly touched her arm, he noticed, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  
“You’ve been fidgeting like a cat ever since you came in,” Draco said, leaning against the table. “And I'm still trying to figure out how you didn’t disintegrate on the spot for being late for class.”

  
Granger narrowed her eyes. “Pray tell how you pictured _that_ particular feat.”

  
Draco shrugged. “Along the lines of a vampire out in the sun.” He brushed past her to sit on the vacant chair and signalled her to do the same when she continued to stand and stare at him stupidly. “Did too much pumpkin juice break you, Granger? You're acting outstandingly aloof.”

  
It took her another moment to respond, and he dared believe that for a second she considered telling him whatever it was that had obviously been bothering her. Pinpointing the moment she decided against it – a horrified blush of sorts couloring her cheeks – was easy enough. 

  
“Do you mind starting to work on the Sopophorous? I'll go get the cauldron,” she suggested and before he had a chance to reply she was off.

  
Of course, she wouldn’t talk to him. What right did he have to demand it, really? Their recently established unspoken truce meant he had the liberty to borrow her Arithmancy notes without getting a dubious glance thrown his way, and she had his agreement to sit at her table at the library, albeit to the far end, so the younger students wouldn’t bother the 'war heroine' with their incessant questions and praises. Nothing more. 

  
Granger returned minutes later, after everyone else had already started on their brew. He knew she took her grades too seriously to stall for time, but he wondered if he had anything to do with it.

  
“I mean, _I_ could take the heavy work, you know?” he teased when she unceremoniously dropped the cauldron on the the table.

  
Draco was relieved to see her suppress a laugh. “You’ve always been more of the white-glove, princess type, so it's fine. Besides, we need to take full advantage of your aptitude for plant dicing and potion-brewing in general. Or of the green patch sewn on your robes.”

  
The Slytherin scowled. “Doubt Slughorn would take it into account. And neither did Snape, for the record. When it came to me in particular, at least. Along with attempting and miserably failing to get Potter into trouble, potion-making was another pastime of mine.”

  
Granger eyed him but he could see it was missing any sort of animosity. “We lost points for not correcting Neville's mistake, for Merlin's sake…”

  
“More out of hatred for Potter than adoration for me then, wouldn’t you say? And it was _one_ point, Granger. Don’t tip the pity scale to your side.”

  
She lowered her eyes to add the sea salt to the water before grinning up at him. “I suppose I have no need to, really. When was the last time Gryffindor _didn’t_ win the House Cup?”

  
Draco snorted in response. “ _Please_ , the three of you sneezed and the rubies started pouring down.”

  
Granger seemed to mull it over while waiting for the salty water mixture to set. “I suppose I could forfeit First Year. That wasn’t fair, to be honest.”

  
He couldn’t help but raise his brows at her confession. “First tardiness, now _concession_?” he said, pointedly running his eyes up and down her form. “Polyjuice potion?”

  
She tried. Oh, she tried so hard. But the barely audible giggle still managed to slip past her lips. Her change in demeanour after retrieving the cauldron was palpable. The three minutes of alone time she had taken for herself had clearly been to gather her thoughts.

  
Draco averted his eyes. He knew better than to push his luck, but still found himself saying, “You seem less tense.”

  
After pouring the water into the cauldron, she started working on the Wormwood quietly. Draco didn’t expect an answer at that point, so her gentle voice surprised him.

  
“Take the rough with the smooth.”

  
He stopped dicing. His eyes trailed to her but found her engrossed in her work. It hadn’t sounded spiteful in the least, and the confused doe-eyed look she graced him with next told him it really had been anything but. 

  
So, if being paired up with him wasn’t the _rough_ , what was, exactly?

  
Draco decided not do dwell on it. For the moment at least. He had the whole day to think about it. Not that he would. Or at least not admit it.

  
Especially to Zabini.

  
Draco frowned when his attention returned to her. “You’ll waste most of it if you grind it that way. Here, let me.” 

  
Granger stiffened and tried to put some space between them when he moved towards her. “I won't, alright? You're not the only one who can brew, you know?”

  
“We don’t have it bottled, Granger. We can’t waste any or it won’t be enough,” he retorted, mildly annoyed with her stubbornness, before lightly grasping both her hands in his. 

  
Draco couldn’t really tell what the exact sequence of events had been, but at some point Granger had leaped from his side with what sounded like a pained gasp and managed to tip the cauldron over. Her cry of pain echoed in the dungeon, the whole class’ scrutiny and murmured guesses on them. 

  
“ _Fuck_ , Granger. Are you alright?” Draco nearly shouted, pulling her away from the spilled mixture.

  
“ _Godric_ , my arm…” she struggled to say between clenched teeth. 

  
“What in- what in the _world_ happened? Miss Granger, are you injured?” Slughorn hurried to their table, along with a couple of Gryffindors and Zabini.

  
Draco wasted no time in gently dragging her closer. “Can you tug your sleeve up?”

  
The agony marring her features immediately gave way to panic. She tried to pull her arm but he held on tight. 

  
“Let me go, Malfoy. I can handle it,” she pleaded, not meeting his eyes.

  
“Hold on just a minute! I've got Burn-Healing paste in the back somewhere,” Slughorn announced, already rushing to his desk. 

  
“Come on, I'll help you,” Draco insisted.

  
“I said it's _fine_ ,” she hissed, clearly displeased he was using his strength to overpower her. 

  
Draco couldn’t give a damn.

  
“Cut it out, you daft witch,” he groaned, swatting her hand away so he could expose a bit more of the burnt skin of her arm. 

  
“ _You_ cut it out! I'll- take care of it myself,” she murmured, her cheeks redder than he'd ever seen them.

  
“ _Granger_.”

  
“ _Malfoy_.”

  
This was ridiculous. She was acting like a damned child and he was not having any of it. She could go back to loathing him for touching her all she wanted afterwards, but he was going to get her blasted sleeve out of the way.

  
When Draco finally managed to remove the fabric despite her protests, he froze.

  
“Here you go, Miss Granger!” Slughorn stumbled to their side, his view of her blocked by Draco's back. “Best put it on quick to assure it doesn’t scare nastily.”

  
When he finally reached her, Draco had lowered her arm between them. Without uttering another word, he grabbed the vial from Slughorn's hand and dragged her outside. 

  
The whispers got louder, and then quieter. Someone bet he'd done it on purpose. Someone swore they saw him push her. Someone complained about Granger being the one getting manhandled by him. 

  
He didn’t care. He was used to it. 

  
His name would always be on everyone’s lips.

  
Where he never would have thought to see it, was tattooed on Granger's skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :3  
> So... I've been dragged to the Dramione pit and it doesn't look like I'll be coming out any time soon, so I thought I could try my hand at writing something.  
> It's my very first Harry Potter fic, so please let me know if you find any incongruencies!  
> Also, please be aware that this story will have very explicit hanky-panky, so, yeah.  
> It would mean the world to me if I could hear your thoughts, if you have the time 🥰  
> Thank you for reading ❤️


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